


No Need to Worry

by navaan



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: Only a few things can hurt Superman. Magic is one of them. When Superman gets hurt during a Justice League mission, Batman seems unconcerned.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 294
Collections: Spicy Advent - Multi-fandom Porn Advent Calendar 2019





	No Need to Worry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Spicy Advent Calendar 2019 for the prompt _hurt_.
> 
> Thank you so much Sylvanwitch for beta and being there to talk to and being so excited about Spicy Advent. ♥

The magic of the blade leaves a gash straight across his chest. The pain is terrible, like Kryptonite melting through his veins, like Doomsday trampling him into the dust. He knows he has to get back up and fight this…

His friends are in danger.

But he can’t even make his lungs fill with much needed air…

Diana lands beside him, goes down to grab him by the shoulder. “Kal?” she asks. “What happened?”

He forces himself onto his knees and looks at her, tries to smile. “Ouch,” he says, happy to note that breathing becomes easier.

The magic still sizzles around him, and there’s blood in the dust beneath him, on his hands.

On Diana’s hands now, too, because she's touching him, trying to discern how badly he was injured. It's not something he's used to.

He groans, gasps, can't answer.

“Are you alright, Superman?” Diana asks. “Kal?!”

He nearly startles when Batman lands on his other side, coming out of nowhere, unheard, unannounced. The magic is affecting Clark’s powers worse than he thought — or is it the pain distracting him?

Batman looks down at him, no smile, no expression of reassurance for Superman, all emotion hidden under the dark cowl — then he looks at Diana and growls: “He’s Superman. He can take it.”

It sounds callous even for the always practical Bruce. Knowing him, it could be anything from challenge to _trust_ in Clark's ability to get back up.

Diana’s eyes narrow. She’s about to protest and Clark stops her, reaching with one bloodied hand for her shoulder, seeking support. He’s getting up now if it’s the last damn thing he’s going to do. He tries to smile through the pain but fails miserably.

But he stands.

Mostly on his own two feet.

“Ouch,” he says again.

“It looks like you’re in real pain,” Barry tells him, pointing out the obvious. He has appeared in front of them and looks sympathetic and worried.

“I am in real pain,” Clark shoots back. “How are you in not-real pain? Is that a thing I’m missing out on?”

Barry grins and shrugs. “Better move if you don’t want more of that,” he suggests and whizzes away, a red and yellow streak zigzagging across the magical plane. Clark can focus in on him and see the man running in front of the streak at speed slightly faster than even Superman can go.

He straightens up. The pain’s still excruciating, but the sooner they break out of this magical hellscape, the sooner he’s going to heal.

“See,” Batman tells Diana with an air of deserved superiority and motions at him, “He’s Superman. He’s fine.”

It feels like the right moment to throw the smugness right back into Bruce’s face. But with the first step he takes, Clark can only hiss in pain. Diana gives Clark an empathetic look, then shakes her head at Bruce and picks up her sword.

“‘Let’s get you out of here,” she tells him and lends Clark her shoulder for support.

So instead of quipping back at Batman, he gives him a “see, at least someone here is decent” glare and lets Diana take his weight.

* * *

He makes it back to his place in Metropolis in one non-bleeding piece and decides that he'll speed-type the story he owes Perry tomorrow. Time to get some rest now.

Despite who he is, he hasn’t managed to quite get under the covers yet before a looming shadow falls over him, blocking the light of a full moon and taking the shape of a pointy- eared figure. He peers up through one half-opened eye. “I could give you a key to the door, you know that?”

“Where would be the fun then?” Batman growls back at him. But then Bruce reaches up to pull back the cowl and reveals his face. His knee is already up on the bed and he leans down for a kiss.

There isn’t even time to throw something back at Bruce, because with one swoop he's just there, in Clark's space, hands pulling at Clark’s t-shirt to expose his chest, to touch and feel, confirm the wound has healed up.

“You’re alright?” Bruce confirms, and he does sound worried this time — with nobody to overhear them.

“I’m Superman, obviously I'm fine. I can take it,” he deadpans the words from before. “You didn’t seem so worried when…”

Bruce kisses him so deeply the thought gets lost between their lips.

“I was worried,” Bruce mutters in his darkest Batman voice when he finally allows Clark pull from the kiss.

The voice is never sexier than it is in that moment with the note of frustrated worry sounding through. Like with Clark and Superman, there's that thin line there somewhere in the middle that's the whole person between the mask and the man, and Bruce usually holds it tightly under control – and can’t right now.

All thoughts of exhaustion fly right out of Clark's head when Bruce proceeds to whisper his relief against now perfectly healed skin, when he presses his body down over Clark’s as if he thinks he needs to protect him here and now. A very different ache makes itself known — this one familiar and welcome. Clark kisses back, touches, yields instinctively when he recognizes Bruce's need to take control....

“Is this… Are you…?” Bruce whispers, questions breaking up into fragments as if he's losing the thought before it could be voiced.

To see Batman struggle to hold a thought makes Clark grin with sudden, overwhelmed delight.

That’s what he can do to Bruce.

Without a single superpower.

“Yes?”

“Is this alright?” Bruce forces out between his teeth. He's looming over him, propping Clark’s legs up, positioning himself – there's no mistaking what he's asking and why. “You’re not too hurt…”

Clark's grin widens. He feels cocky with the passion that has swept both of them away, senses the worry and revealed tenderness in Bruce's uncharacteristic hesitation.

“I’m Superman,” he whispers, making sure to sound like his hero self. “I can take it.”

For a moment, Bruce’s eyes widen, then the dark blue sparks with recognition. His mouth quirks into a half-smile. “Careful, that sounds like a challenge.”

Clark pulls him down to throw down the gauntlet with his lips.

He's happy enough to let the joy erase the memory of pain, is more than willing to let Bruce show him how much he worried with his body, his fingers. Even Superman is vulnerable to this — the passion, the tenderness, the roughness, the give and take of sexual pleasure.

And Bruce knows what he's doing... He knows how to draw helpless moans from him, make him pant...

“Still can take it?” he whispers, breathing the question against the skin of Clark's throat, speeding the rhythms of their lovemaking up until it becomes too much, too fast, not fast enough...

He growls, helpless, delighted. “More,” he demands.

A chuckle never makes it out of Bruce's throat. Clark steals it with a kiss and they both lose themselves in the moment when it all comes crashing down in celebration of this thing between them they rarely name.

“I'm glad you're alright,” Bruce admits later, whispering it into Clark's hair when he thinks he's already asleep.

There was never a doubt about it.


End file.
